Across The Line
by AliceTheBrave
Summary: In this desert, in darkness, lying with the gun across his chest. Pretending he's heartless. As the fire flashes in the sky. He was fragile and frozen when the bullet took away his friend, and now he's somehow more broken. He's pulling his weapon to his side, loading it full of his goodbyes. Holding an enemy across the line. Eternal Series.
1. He's Heartless

The wind howled and screeched in the night, unrelenting against the crumbling walls of a lonely and desolate town. The desert sand whirled and writhed in the air, greedily seeking out any crevice of refuge to hide itself in. Seemingly trying to escape the dark and empty desert night in which it resided. A howl echoed through the wasteland, seeming to come from all directions. The sound an omen of death. The full moon shone brightly over the small, empty, crumbling remains of a home and the hell in which it lay, casting grotesque and macabre shadows on everything below.

The men inside the shadowed structure lay alert and awake in the eerie night. Three of them lie in various positions along the north wall, none of them looking comfortable. All of them covered in an assortment of untreated scrapes and cuts. Another man lie stretched out in the middle of the room, heavily injured and panting for the air he couldn't seem to catch. He was the only one whose wounds had been tended to. Covered in bandages heavily on both the left side of his face and his abdomen, it was clear his wounds were extensive. They were all dressed in heavy battle gear. Kevlar vests filled with pathetic amounts of ammunition, grenades, knives, and any other weapons they could carry. They all wore grim expressions on their worn and desolate faces. It was obvious that they had been in a battle of some kind, and they had not come out unscathed.

One of these men sat staring at the man lying on the floor. His gaze flickered over his damaged and bloody body. He knew he wouldn't make it. Not this time. Unable to look at his dying comrade any longer, his gaze flickered to the other man in the room. The reason they were all there in the first was one more man in the small room, leaning against the south wall directly under the only window in the building. He too was riddled with wounds and dressed in the heavy Kevlar and desert camouflage that had become their uniform. But unlike the others, his face held no trace of fear, regret, or pain. He simply stared blankly out the window at the empty expanse encasing them. He showed no emotion, no feeling, no regret for bringing them here, for getting them involved in this mess. No regret for getting involved himself, no fear for his own life or safety. Nothing. The man was cold. Empty. _Heartless._

Noticing the gaze on him the man turned toward him slowly. He flinched slightly at being caught. He seriously hoped he hadn't offended him. Not that he actually cared what the man thought of him, simply because he had seen the way the man fought. He had seen his skill, his style, his speed. The way he attacked people seemingly unprovoked only to pull a hidden weapon from the clutches of the corpse. They way he had lulled their enemies into false security, made them think he wasn't a threat, the way he had smiled convincingly at them and joked and laughed, only to end their lives as soon as the opportunity arose. They way he would play the part of the fool, oblivious, innocent, and dense. They way he would make you realize that, _no_, he wasn't a fool. He knew exactly what was happening; he knew even more than you did. The way he changed from a laughing idiot that was the life of the party to a cold-blooded killer in a fraction of a second.

He shivered slightly as the man simply stared at him, his eyes trailing over him. Searching, appraising. _Looking for a weakness._ He realized with a start. Seemingly, noticing his sudden nervousness, the man smiled that bright smile at him. The same smile he used when they met for the first time. The same smile he used when they embarked on this journey. The same smile he used on the enemy. He suddenly realized that the man _knew. _He _knew_ this would happen. He knew they wouldn't all make it out. He knew most of them would die. He _knew_.

Suddenly seized by intense rage he made to move, to stand up, to grab his gun, to scream at him, to accuse him, to do _something_... but he stopped. The man had quietly and slowly lifted his hand to his face. His left index finger in front of his lips. The universal symbol for, _be quiet_. The man slowly moved his hand toward the man lying on the floor, struggling for breath, suffering in pain. Confused and angry he looked quickly between the two, before realizing what the man was trying to tell him.

_Not now. Don't cause him stress now. Let him go in peace._

He opened his mouth, prepared to say something, to ask him why, after all he'd done, why did he care now? But he never got the chance. Suddenly the sky exploded into flames. The ground shook underneath them and smoke-filled the air. The others quickly jumped to their feet, guns at the ready. He too was in a defensive position, weapon pointed firmly at the door. Slowly the man beneath the window stood and while casually dusting off his pants calmly said, 'They've found us. That was pretty quick. I'm impressed.'

All eyes in the building were trained on him, the previous anger and resentment forgotten. 'What now?' He asked. The man looked him in the eyes and grinned slowly.

'Now, my friend, we go out with a bang.'

* * *

The shadows danced across the barren crumbling town as he stared out at the sand around them. He could hear the labored breathing of his comrade even over the howling of the wind. He closed his eyes and listened to both sounds, trying to etch these memories into his mind and push them back into the dark recesses where he would never see them again. He wondered, not for the first time if this was the right choice. Bringing these men out here; new additions to his family, barely out of the mafia academy. Then he remembered why he was here in the first place. Revenge.

He still remembered the day when his best friend was lost. He remembered the blood, the scream of Robert's sister as the only family she had left died. The look on his face as he screamed at him to run, to take his sister and get out. To get the hell _out of there._ He remembered how he couldn't move, how he was frozen to the ground where he sat, a crumpled mess, as the bullet tore through his best friend. He remembered how he had stared wide-eyed and numb at the empty eyes of the one man he trusted more than anyone. He remembered how he hadn't moved until Megan's scream had ripped through the air.

He forcefully ripped himself out of his memories. Now wasn't the time. He had to get out of here. He had to get as many of these men out of here as he could. He knew the injured man in the middle of the room wouldn't make it. Alic was his name, if he remembered correctly. Twenty-nine years old, with a young wife waiting back home. To bad he wouldn't see her again. Somehow he felt envious of him. Only slightly though, the thought of death, granted comforting, wasn't entirely appealing to him at the moment. Never seeing the women you loved again until she too died wasn't very appealing either.

He thought that was funny. He really did. How broken must he be to think of his own death so lightly? He supposed it wouldn't matter. When he got home he would be able to hold the woman he loved in his arms again. He'd be able to tell her that he had avenged them. That their friends hadn't died in vain. She would give him that look again. The one that she used when she wanted to be happy but just couldn't. Maybe she would cry. Maybe she would be angry at him. But he knew that she would move on. And so would he. They would move on together and they would be happy. Eventually; not right away, but eventually.

He was torn from his musings by the stare of one of his men. Vicctorio, if he remembers correctly. Him and Alic were friends or something of the sort. He always made a point to remember the names of his men. Always. Vicctorio was glaring at him coldly, but flinched as he turned his gaze toward him. Panic flickered through his eyes for a brief moment. Disregarding Vicctorio's jumpiness he looked him over; scanning for wounds. Gauging how long he would last. What he saw wasn't very hopeful. Noticing the tenseness in the man's body, he gave him an easy smile. One had used for years. His fiancée had come to call it his 'professional smile' even though most considered it to be nothing of the sort. It was too warm, too friendly, too disarming. And that's just what it was used for. He used it to get close to people, to gain their trust, to calm and reassure them.

However Vicctorio was smarter than he had given him credit for. He saw through the smile. He saw through the reassurance. He saw that he knew. He knew exactly how risky this mission was. He knew exactly how many and which men would die. He knew all along that Alic would die. He knew and yet he did nothing. because that was the price of being a leader. You had to be able to sacrifice men, good men, to obtain your objective. That's just how this business worked. How the world worked. And he hated it. Still he played by these rules so he could survive and protect his own. He was a monster and he wouldn't deny it.

He would sully his hands with blood while thinking of his home and the people he loved. He would remember the screams and pleads of all those he killed, directly or not, and he would burn them into the depths of his mind where he could pretend they didn't exist. He would memorize the name of every man, women, or child he had ever killed or let die and he would write it in his journal. He would go home, soaked in blood, visible only to him, and hold his waiting fiancée. He would be glad he did what he did because he was able to stay by her side. He would wake up in the middle of the night with their screams resounding through his mind and he would let her lull back to sleep. He would wake up every morning and go to sleep every night hating himself only for her to love him regardless. And the worst part, the most sickening thing was, he was okay with that.

He saw the hate he knew all to well fill Vicctorio's eyes as he mad to reach for his gun and stand. Without hesitating he hushed the man like a child and pointed Alic. Poor, dying, Alic. He saw Vicctorio glance confusedly from him to the dying man and tried to convey what he meant with his eyes. _Let the poor man die in peace. We can do this later. Hate me all you want, but the least we can do for him is let him go in peace._

He saw him open mouth and heard the beginning of a word, but was distracted by a flash of light and the smell of smoke. The earth rumbled and he smirked. The others jumped into action, excluding poor dying Alic. He slowly stood up and brushed off his pants, despite knowing he would never completely get the sand out of them. Noticing them all looking to him he spoke, calmly and surely, 'They've found us. That was pretty quick. I'm impressed.'

Vicctorio looked at him, all traces of resentment forgotten. 'What now?' He asked. He looked at him and let a smile slip onto his face. Now he got to work.

'Now, my friend, we go out with a bang.'


	2. Her Cravings

The rain pounded against the window unrelenting against the worn walls of the mansion. The wind writhed outside and wildly shook the large windows facing out toward the extensive surrounding forest. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, the sound that should have been eerie only served to complete the feeling of a desolate estate. In the shadows of the yard several men could be seen shifting lazily around the grounds. The metal of their gun glinted sharply in the faint light. She stared out at them, unfocused and unconcerned. They were there for her protection, or so said the owners of the house. They had kindly taken her in and protected her from the people that were after her. The master of the house had even gone as far to leave the country with a unit of his best men to find and stop these people.

She scoffed at this. It didn't matter to her what those people did. Let them come for her, she didn't care. She'd rather they did. If they could end this hollow ache in her chest, she'd gladly let them. But, she knew they'd never get the chance. The house she was in was practically impenetrable and the owners would stop at nothing to exterminate those who were after her. Whether it was for her sake or for the sake of revenge, she didn't know. She really didn't care. But a large part of her thought it was for revenge. After all, that's what she wanted. And right now the master of the house, her brothers best friend, was out getting that revenge. Revenge for her brother. For the life that they took from him and attempted to take from her. Sometimes she wished that she hadn't screamed when they had moved toward her. She wished she hadn't woken him from his shock induced stupor. Then she wouldn't have to feel this.

This emptiness. This hollow pain. It was unbearable. She looked over toward the small wooden box on the mantle place. Maybe she wouldn't have to bear it. With a little help she could end this. After all, her family specialized in these sort of things, she thought as she grabbed the box. She slowly made her way back to her seat. With a sigh and a wistful smile she opened the box. Resting inside, was a syringe, adorned with silver and gold and inscribed along it's width with the words, _'prendere i segreti nella tomba'*_. Her brother had given it to her many years ago with a solemn and almost pained expression. He had said only to use it when her only choices were to betray or die. In their family Death was always the better option.

She let the smile grow on her face. This was best. She wouldn't be a burden to her friends and she could be with her family again. Wasn't that always best? Of course it was. She picked up the fragile object and caressed it almost lovingly. This was it. She was going home now.

She put the needle to her arm and took a deep breath. With a slight giggle at the thought of her brothers scolding face, she pushed it in.

And she closed her eyes.

* * *

She hurried her steps toward the only occupied guest room in her house. The tea tray she balanced in her hands was filled with tea and snacks and a little bottle of sleeping pills. Megan had been having trouble sleeping lately. Not surprising having seen her brother murdered right in front of her. Unlike the rest of them she wasn't used to such things. After all, sickly children weren't taken out to train every day, they weren't taught how to torture or kill or be diplomats. They stayed in bed all day and had their mothers read them fairy tales.

She sighed, clearing away her envious thoughts. Now wasn't the time. She needed to help her friend. She knocked softly on the door. "Megan. It's me, Eien. Can I come in?" She asked softly. She was met with only silence. Furrowing her brow in worry she knocked again, harder. "Megan. Are you awake?" Again silence was her answer. She was about to turn away when she heard a faint giggle from the other side of the door. Confused, she turned back toward the door and placed her hand on the door-knob. "Megan. I'm coming in." She pushed the door open with her hip, masterfully balancing the tray. Her efforts were wasted however as she dropped the tray upon seeing what lay before her.

Megan lay on the couch, her brown hair splayed out across the back. Her blue night-gown crumpled and messy. A syringe in her arm. Eien gasped out a strangled cry and ran over to her friend. She rolled her over and checked her pulse, it was quickly slowing. Unable to think of what to do, she jerked the needle out of Megan's arm and threw it across the room. "Megan!" She shouted shaking the girl. "Megan!" She tried again, desperately. Realizing that the girl wasn't going to wake up, she quickly stood to go raid her extensive first aid kit for an antidote. As she turned to dash out the door she was stopped by a quiet murmur from the unconscious girl. "I'm coming... brother.."

She stopped and twisted her body to face the girl. Her mind stopped working. Her heart felt like it stopped beating. She felt like a glass sculpture waiting for a breeze to blow her over and shatter her to pieces. Was this her fault? Did she not comfort her enough? Did she not stay with her enough? Was she not a good enough friend? Was she the cause?

The breeze that broke her came in the guise of one final sigh from her first and most beloved friend.

And just like that the glass was shattered.

* * *

"Madam! Open the door! Please!" Shouted a large man outside of the guest room as he banged frantically on the door. "Mrs. Eien! Please, just open the door!" He shouted, panic lacing his shaking voice. Gunshots resounded through the mansion. This wasn't supposed to happen. The estate was supposed to be impenetrable. The ambush shouldn't have hindered them, but it did. They were inside. The enemy was here and he had to protect his mistress and their guest. If she would just open this damn door!

Suddenly the clacking of heels came up behind him on the cold marble floor. He froze and then sighed before shifting his weight and knocking calmly on the door. "I'm sorry Madam, but I'm afraid I have some business to take care of out here. If you would please vacate the premises and take Miss. Megan with you to a safe house, I'm sure Master Di Lauro* would come to collect you as soon as possible." He said calmly and professionally. When he heard no response he nodded and turned to face his adversary.

"Entrance to this wing is forbidden to all outside and A-F class personnel." He let a light and polite smirk slip onto his face as he cocked his pistol. "You, sir, are clearly outside personnel."

* * *

The door burst open as a large and bloody body slammed through it and onto the floor, his gun sliding away from him. Polished shoes clacked through broken and shattered entry-way, their owner surveying the area. He smirked when he found his target. She was sitting in the middle of the room, her white dress and blonde hair flowing around her as she held a younger brunette tightly to her chest. The lights in the room were off due to the power being cut in their ambush causing macabe shadows to dance across what little he could see her face. She was beautiful in a haunting sort of way and he almost regretted having to kill her.

However, a job was a job and her death was his. He raised his gun to her head and made to pull the trigger. He then noticed that she was covered in sweat and shaking like a leaf. He had to hold back a laugh. He had been told that she would be dangerous; not a woman to be messed with. Here she was shaking in fear of death and clutching what he now realized was a corpse. Suddenly she let out a low deep chuckle. It startled him enough to lower the gun slightly. Suddenly her chuckle grew into full blown laughter and she rocked back on her knees until she was almost completely bent over backwards. All the while clutching the corpse to her. It was one of the most disturbing things he had seen in a long while and he raised his gun once more. She seemed to hear the click of it and stopped her insane laughter. She looked at him and he was struck with a sudden wave of fear at the fire in her eyes.

Quickly he steady his hand and fired his gun, intent on ending the strange woman then and there. Suddenly she was gone. Her, the body guards gun, and the corpse she clung to had disappeared. "Goodbye." She said with the insane chuckle he had heard earlier. Suddenly a shot rang out through the air and a body fell to the ground. She wandered back to her spot in the middle of the room and sat heavily, still carrying her friend with her. She laid the gun next to her and caressed the girls cold face. "And somehow I seem to be even more broken." She said with a dark chuckle and an insane smile as tears ran down her cheeks. She heard the click of shoes down the hall and the cocking of more pistols and looked up at the wall of men outside the room. "And again with this craving. Blood on the hands feels so nice in the winter."

She pulled the gun to her side and loaded it with the spare bullets she kept hidden on her person. She held it up to the men with that sickening smile of hers and patted her friends folded hands. "Don't worry, I'll hold them across the line."

And so she did.

* * *

* Take the secrets to the grave.

*The **Di Lauro clan** is an Italian crime clan, part of the Camorra in Naples. (Please don't find this and kill me.)


End file.
